Ever want to sit behind a bigass set of drums?

Here’s your chance to do just that with a virtual drum set and raise a bit of hell.

Via J-Walk Blog, where you can also find two more fun, interactive cyberprecussion things.

Who knew?

I just watched the Eagles on NBC.

Memo to the Boys and Girls Who Want to Start a Band:

If you want to start a band and really make instrumental and vocal music rather than just slamming away on a G Chord with the volume pumped up to 10 and running full distortion, study the Eagles.

They do it just exactly right.

I was bummed out to learn that my friend Craig at mtpolitics is closing up shop. Back when I was first stumbling around the Blogosphere, Craig and I bumped into each other, probably via Rita’s Site. We quickly became readers of one another’s blogs and, before long, we were regularly exchanging e-mails and the occasional phone call. He really is a great guy.

In fact, I have often referred to Craig as “The Nicest Guy in the Blogosphere,” and for good reason. Craig was the one who pestered me to get off BlogSpot and then did all the heavy lifting to move this site from BlogSpot over to Movable Type. He got everything just right and then handed me the keys to the place. Thereafter, he patiently and calmly answered scores of my dumbass questions, most often posed while in a confused and agitated state. He still is my “go to” guy on those many occasions when my techno-stupidity gets the better of me, and he always seems to have a few minutes to deal with the Nut from Joisey.

Craig’s reasons for hanging it up are his own, and I respect them.

But, like I said – It’s a damned shame.

Sol Lipkin, a member of our American Legion Post, showed up yesterday to take part in the Memorial Day Parade, the Memorial Day Ceremony at the town’s Memorial Park, as well as the Memorial Day open house, which was hosted by the Post.

Sol turned 99 last week.

Sol started his career with the American Shuffleboard Company in the 30’s, but with the outbreak of World War II, Sol interrupted his career to join the Navy at age 37. He spent the war years as a See Bee building airfields in the Aleutian Islands. After the war, he resumed his position with the American Shuffleboard Company and sold just about every shuffleboard that exists today in the United States. He has been referred to as the “Father of American Shuffleboard”.

However, don’t get the idea that, at age 99, Sol is a feeble shut-in, who is annually coaxed away from his rocking chair and lap blanket to be paraded about on Memorial Day. No sir. Sol stays busy – very busy. You see, he still works, and he works hard. He travels all over the country promoting shuffleboard playing at Dave and Buster’s, a nation-wide chain of well-organized places that feature excellent food, drinks and arcade-type games for grownups. He also spends time promoting the Cadillac of Shuffleboards – the “Sol Lipkin Shuffleboard”.

In the 60’s, Sol was asked by the U.S. Navy to oversee the installation of a shuffleboard on a nuclear submarine, the USS Theodore Roosevelt. Details and enlargeable pictures of the final installation can be seen here (You’ll have to scroll a tad).

At age 90, Sol was inducted into the National Shuffleboard Hall of Fame, which has since become known as the “Sol Lipkin Award”. Note: A couple photos of Sol appear at the previous link.

Sol’s extraordinary ability to sell is not limited to shuffleboards. When Sol learned of the American Legion’s Annual Poppy Drive a few years ago, the Post almost ran out of Poppies, because Sol single-handedly sold more than 500 of them outside a local supermarket.

His energy is seemingly boundless. At a 50’s and 60’s Dance thrown by the Post a few years ago, Sol showed up in a spiffy yellow sweater and outdanced people one third his age.

He was twice widowed and often speaks lovingly of both his wives. However, when I saw him yesterday he reported, with a twinkle in his eye, that he had just returned from spending a month working in Texas where he had the chance to spend a good deal of time with his “girlfriend.” He’ll be heading back to Texas in week or so, and then he’s off to a half dozen more states. He is irrepressible.

A few years back, I visited Sol at his home and, knowing that I enjoy a bit of bourbon now and then, he produced a well-aged bottle of I.W. Harper bourbon, a brand that is difficult – if not impossible – to find in stores anymore. We sipped the most excellent bourbon while I had the pleasure of having Sol share with me some facets of his life’s story. At the end of our visit, he told me that he would save the rest of the “special bottle” for my next visit.

Yesterday, he reminded me, “Jim, I still have that bourbon. You’ll have to stop by one of these days and we’ll finish it.”

I’ll make a point of it, because just as good bourbon improves with age, so does my amazing friend Sol.

Remember.

A PRS undercover operative recently attended a Washington D.C. cocktail party and listened in on a discussion among a group comprised of Senators Barbara Boxer, Christopher Dodd, Joe Biden and Ted Kennedy. The discussion centered on their plans to defeat any energy policy proposed by President Bush, or, for that matter, anything at all proposed by President Bush.

Joe Biden interrupted the group’s discussion when he noticed John Bolton, the President’s nominee for the post of United States Ambassador to the United Nations, walk by.

Biden: “Hey John! John Bolton! How are you? Good to see you.”

Bolton: (briefly stopping) “Senators Boxer, Dodd, Biden and Kennedy … Good evening.” (begins to resume walking past the group)

Boxer: “John, please join us. It’s a wonderful party, isn’t it?”

Bolton:

Dodd: “Hey, buddy. I hope you’re not angry with us over some of the things we’ve been saying on the Senate Floor and in Committee. We’ve been pretty tough on you, I know.”

Kennedy: “Chris is right, John. I know that at various times, each of us has referred to you as a bully, and a liar…”

Boxer: “… and a person who rigged intelligence reports, and who hollered at a government employee and, as if that were not enough, you actually wanted to fire a government employee. a government employee, John!”

Bolton:

Biden: “Yes, and we all said on repeated occasions that your numerous character flaws render you completely unfit to hold the position of Ambassador to the United Nations. But Jeez Louise, John, I hope you aren’t taking any of it personally. We are just doing our jobs. You know…The Advice and Consent Thing?”

Kennedy: “It’s just a confirmation thing, John. It’s no reason why we can’t all just get along. How about a martini?”

Bolton: “Are you all finished?”

Boxer:

Dodd:

Biden:

Kennedy:

Bolton: “You shitheads have been saying those things about me on the Senate floor and in Committee Rooms, especially when the cameras are rolling. Well, were not in the Senate now, and I want to see if any of you has the backbone to say those things to my face. Right here. Right now.”

Boxer:

Dodd:

Biden:

Kennedy:

Bolton: “I thought so. You people make me want to puke. It kills you bastards to know that in the United Nations I would represent the interests of the people of the United States and not your bullshit We are the World – Kumbaya ideology. You can all kiss my ass!” (walks away)

Biden: “See? The guy lacks the temperament to be an Ambassador.”

Boxer: “You’re right, Joe. He’s no Madeline Albright.”

Dodd: “Yep, ol’ Madeline would run circles around that smartass. Now where were we?”

Biden: “We were talking about how much we hate George Bush’s policy.”

Dodd: “Which one?”

Boxer: “Doesn’t matter. We hate ‘em all.”

Kennedy: “Oh waiter! Can we get four more Grey Goose martinis heah? Make it snappy!! We’re parched.”

Gone for one farookin’ week, and I’ve become something akin to a wombat. I guess I’ll lay in a supply of Foster’s and practice talking like this guy.

Jeez, this place looks bleak.

Seeing nothing here and being wise to my techno-incompetence, my buddy Sluggo sent me an e-mail questioning whether I had been fooling around with Mr. Template and, in so doing, managed to nuke the site. He may be wise to my techno-stupidity, but he’s not completely hip to my utter lack of courage when it comes to fooling around with Mr. Template. I plan even teeny changes to Mr. Template with the care that went into the preparations for the Normandy Invasion. What happened was that, upon my return from spending a week in the Land of Booze Sun and Fun, I was again reminded that this place is set up to show a calendar week’s worth of stuff, and each post automatically electro-zaps into the archives after seven days of screen time. Hence, the sorry-assed looking site.

So, with that, I figured I ought to toss something up on the blog to make sure it still sticks.

Da Vacation. It was most excellent being in sunny Southwest Florida, particularly since last week in New Jersey the weather was chilly and rainy. We got through Newark Airport without a hitch, and when we arrived at Fort Myers, four of the Usual Suspects, who had spent some time in St. Petersburg the previous week, were there to meet us and to begin the annual hepatic and digestive system assault. Our old pal in the liquor store damned near jumped for joy when we descended on the place like thirsty lab rats, flush with money for spirits. Upon our arrival at Grownup Camp, we immediately created an elegant rolling bar, which I hope to be able to provide pictures of in the next few days.

We were greeted by our pals who every year also choose that week to attend “Camp,” from places such as “The Great City of Fort Wayne, Indiana,” Chattanooga, Tennessee, Rome New York, Longview, Washington, Shelbyville, Illinois, and Ashtabula, Ohio. As strange as it seems, over the last handful of years, they have come to enjoy tolerate the presence of the Jersey Vulgarians. Go figure.

There was plenty of swimming floating about, deep conversation bullshitting, gluttony fine dining, and, of course, cocktails. This year marked the first time I got to do a bit of guitar pickin’, because Usual Suspect Jeff and his spouse, No-Fly Adie, were kind enough to pack my guitar into their car for the mondo drive from Jersey to Florida.

As evidence that the repeated annual exposure of the normal folks to the Usual Suspects is having an effect, during one tune one of the Non-Garden Staters donned his wife’s dress bathing suit cover-up and her hat adorned with red and purple feathers and sashayed up to me to drop his room key into the “Tip Bucket,” which Deb, the Master of Disaster Activities Director had placed at my feet. He looked perfectly stunning, and the room key fit right in with the thirty-five cents and one Dorito that also found its way to the bucket.

I had anticipated that a week away from the blog would result in a wave of creativity. I even brought along a nifty journal to jot down the gems that I was certain would occur to me while resting my cruller. It really didn’t happen. I guess I forgot that my Muse was also on vacation.

That being said, I did have a couple thoughts and observations that I probably will jot down over the next few days, even though I believe that my Muse is still lounging around the damned pool thirteen hundred miles away.

Welcome Home Comment Spam. One thing that Ms. Muse could not have helped me with was the 2,400+ comment spams and one hundred or so trackback spams that greeted me upon my return. Of course each of those generates an e-mail, so I had quit a mess to clean up around here. I tried to be careful in the de-spamming and deleting process, but if you find that your comment failed to appear (they are held pending approval for posts older than 14 days), or if you are receiving a message rejecting your comments, please let me know, and I should be able to fix it, as it does not require fooling around with Mr. Template.

Yes, it’s true.

Tomorrow several of the Usual Suspects will convene in the Sunshine State. The Original Bill and the Quietly Sinister Linda have been in a different part of Florida for a week already, and they were joined on Wednesday by my friend and bodyguard, Ken, and The Deckmistress. I have already received a few only moderately coherent phone calls from them, one of which was from a place called “Bongo’s,” the selling feature of which is that it is crawling walking distance from where they are staying on the Gulf.

The foregoing four will meet us (Mrs. Parkway, Pat[ricia], the svelte, single Usual Suspect, and Yours Truly) at the Fort Myers Airport, and we will proceed to the place where we all have timeshares in Fort Myers Beach after the obligatory stop at Publix supermarket and the nearby liquor store for critical supplies. I believe that the guy in the liquor store where we make our annual stop has a wing on his house dedicated to the Jersey Vulgarians.

On Saturday, we will be joined by Usual Suspects Jeff (da Chef a da Future and one of the barkeeps at the Jersey Blogmeet) and his boss wife, Ms. Adie, the resolute non-flyer. Because Adie will not set foot in a plane, she and Jeff will be driving down from Jersey. The bonus is that Jeff has graciously agreed to transport my guitar in his car, sparing me from having to lug it onto the plane. By the time they arrive on Saturday afternoon, we will most certainly be well oiled, so I probably will should put off the guitar playing for at least a day.

We will also re-unite with other timeshare folks we have come to know and who come in from various places, including Indiana, Illinois and Washington State. It’s always great to see them and catch up.

By and large, we plan on doing loads of sitting around, drinking, swimming, drinking, bullshitting, drinking, ball breaking, drinking, overeating, drinking, and not much else. My kind of vacation.

So, dear hearts, I will be computerless and, therefore, blogless for a week, but I will see you again some time next weekend. In the meantime, behave yourselves. But, if you can’t behave yourselves, at least be careful.